VII.

“Introduction; adagio (Catharine’s childhood and life before marriage); allegro (the threatening of the storm); her longing for a truer love and happiness; allegro appassionato (her spiritual conflict). Sudden change to evening on the banks of the Volga: the same conflict,but with traces of feverish joy. The coming of the storm (repetition of the theme which follows the adagio and the further development of it). The Storm: the climax of her desperate conflict—Death.”

The next important composition, which was not lost, like so many of Tchaikovsky’s early works, was the “Dances of the Serving Girls,” afterwards employed as a ballet in his opera,The Voyevode. It is impossible to fix the precise date at which these dances were composed, but early in 1865 they were already finished and orchestrated.

In 1865 Tchaikovsky’s father married—for the third time—a widow, Elizabeth Alexandrov. This event made no difference to the life of Peter Ilich, for he was attached to his stepmother, whom he had known for several years, and to whom he often went for advice in moments of doubt and difficulty. The summer of this year was spent with his sister at Kamenka.

Kamenka, of which we hear so much in the life of Peter Ilich, is a rural spot on the banks of the Tiasmin, in the Government of Kiev, and forms part of the great estate which Tchaikovsky’s brother-in-law had inherited from the exiled Decembrist Vassily Davidov. The place has historical associations, having been the centre of the revolutionary movement which disturbed the last years of Alexander I. Here, too, the poet Poushkin came as a visitor, and his famous poem, “The Prisoner in the Caucasus,” is said to have been written at Kamenka. The property actually belonged to an elder brother, Nicholas Davidov, who practically resigned it to the management of Tchaikovsky’s brother-in-law, preferring the pleasures of his library and garden to the responsibilities of a great landowner.

Kamenka did not boast great natural charms, nevertheless Tchaikovsky enjoyed his visit there, and soon forgot the luxuries of Trostinetz.

Nicholas Davidov, although a kindly and sympathetic nature, held decided opinions of his own, which were not altogether in keeping with the liberalism then in vogue. This strong-minded man, who thought things out for himself, impressed Tchaikovsky, and changed his political outlook. Throughout life the composer took no very strong political views; his tendencies leaned now one way, now another; but from the time of his acquaintance with Nicholas Davidov his views were more disposed towards conservativism. It was, however, the happy household at Kamenka that exercised the greatest influence upon Tchaikovsky. Henceforth his sister’s family became his favourite refuge, whither, in days to come, he went to rest from the cares and excitements of life, and where, twelve years later, he made a temporary home.

Perhaps these pleasant impressions were also strengthened by the consciousness of work well accomplished. Anton Rubinstein had set him a second task—the translation of Gevaert’s treatise onInstrumentation. This he carried out admirably, besides the composition of the overture.

At Kamenka he had one disappointing experience. He had heard so much of the beauty of the Little Russian folk-songs, and hoped to amass material for his future compositions. This was not to be. The songs he heard seemed to him artificial and retouched, and by no means equal in beauty or originality to the folk melodies of Great Russia. He only wrote down one song while at Kamenka—a tune sung daily by the women who worked in the garden. He first used this melody in a string quartet, which he began to compose in the autumn, but afterwards changed it into theScherzo à la russefor pianoforte, Op. 1. No. 1. Towards the end of August, Tchaikovsky returned to Petersburg with his brothers.

“Petersburg welcomed us with a deluge of rain,” he wrote to his sister on his return. But in many other respects also the town made an unfavourable impression upon Tchaikovsky. In the first place, the question of a lodging gave him considerable trouble. The room which he had engaged for eight roubles a month was small and uncomfortable. The longer he stayed, the more he disliked it. He tried various quarters without finding the quiet which was the first essential, and, in November, finally took possession of a room lent him by his friend, Apukhtin, who was going away for a time.

Another unpleasant experience took the form of an obstinate affection of the eyes, which hindered him from working regularly. Lastly, he began to feel some anxiety as to his future livelihood when his course at the Conservatoire should have come to an end. To continue in his present course of existence seemed to him terrible. The small income, which hitherto only had to serve him for his lesser needs, had now to cover board and lodging—in fact, his entire expenses.

We may guess how hard was his struggle with poverty, when we find him once more assailed by doubts as to his wisdom in having chosen the musical profession, and even contemplating the idea of returning to the service of the State. Some of his friends echoed his momentary cry of weakness. One seriously proposed that he should accept the fairly good pay of an inspector of meat. To the great advantage of all consumers, and to the glory of Russian music, the proposal came to nothing.

Simultaneously with Tchaikovsky’s hardest struggle for existence, came also the first hopes of artistic success. These triumphs were very modest as compared to those which lay in store for him; but at that period of his life the praise of his masters, the applause of his fellow-students, and the first public performance of his works, sufficed to fill him with happiness and self-confidence. The performanceof his “Dances of the Serving Maids,” at one of the summer concerts at Pavlovsk, conducted by the “Valse King,” Johann Strauss, greatly cheered the young composer.

His satisfaction was still further increased when Nicholas Rubinstein, following the example of his illustrious brother, resolved to open a Conservatoire in Moscow, and engaged Tchaikovsky as Professor of Harmony.

Nicholas Rubinstein had first approached Serov, who was not unwilling to accept the post. But the extraordinary success of his operaRognedain St. Petersburg, and the failure ofJudithin Moscow, caused him to change his mind and wish to remain in that capital where he was best appreciated. This took place in 1865. Nicholas Rubinstein, seeing no other way out of the difficulty, decided to offer the professorship to one of the students of the Petersburg Conservatoire, and his brother put forward the claims of Tchaikovsky. Although the honour was great, the emolument was not attractive, for it amounted only to fifty roubles (£5) a month; that is to say, to something less than the modest income he had hitherto managed to earn in Petersburg. Nevertheless, in November, he decided to accept the post.

The remaining successes of this period relate to his compositions.

In spite of his eyes being affected, and his constant change of quarters, the time had not been barren. He had composed a string quartet in B♭ major,[9]and an overture in F major.[10]The quartet was played at one of the pupils’ concerts at the Conservatoire, October 30th (November 11th), 1865, and a fortnight later the overture was performed by the school orchestra, under the bâton of the composer.

In November of this year, Tchaikovsky set to work upon a cantata for chorus and orchestra, a setting of Schiller’sOde to Joy.[11]

This task had been set him by Anton Rubinstein, and was intended for performance at the prize distribution, which took place at the end of the school year. On December 31st, 1865 (January 12th, 1866), the cantata was performed by the pupils of the Conservatoire in the presence of the Directors of the Russian Musical Society, the Board of Examiners, the Director of the Court Chapel, Bachmetiev, and the Capellmeisters of the Imperial Opera, Kajinsky, Liadov and Ricci.

The composer himself was not present, as he wished to avoid thevivâ voceexamination, which ought to have preceded the performance of the cantata. Anton Rubinstein was exceedingly displeased, and threatened to withhold Tchaikovsky’s diploma until he submitted to this public test. Matters were not carried so far. Apparently the young composer had given sufficient proof of his knowledge in the cantata itself, and he received not only his diploma, but a silver medal in addition.

In spite of this official success, the cantata did not win the approval of the musical authorities.

Evidently Rubinstein was not satisfied with it, since he put off Tchaikovsky’s request that the cantata might be performed by the Russian Musical Society, by saying that he could only agree on condition that “great alterations” were made in the score, for in its original form it was not good enough to place beside the works of other Russian composers—Sokalsky, Christianovich, Rimsky-Korsakov, and Balakirev. Serov’s opinion of this composition was not more favourable.

In the opposite camp to Serov—among that young Russian school which flocked round Dargomijsky, andincluded Balakirev, Rimsky-Korsakov, and Cæsar Cui, the cantata met with even less approval. Three months after its performance Cui, then critic of the St. PetersburgViedomosti, wound up his notice of the work as follows:—

“In a word, I will only say that composers of the calibre of Reinthaler and Volkmann will probably rejoice over Mr. Tchaikovsky’s cantata, and exclaim, ‘Our number is increased.’”

Such were the judgments passed upon his first work by the musical lights and the Press.

Laroche, however, was of a different opinion. He sent the following letter to Tchaikovsky in Moscow:—

“Petersburg (midnight),“January11th(23rd), 1866.“ ... I will tell you frankly that I consider yours is the greatest musical talent to which Russia can look in the future. Stronger and more original than Balakirev, loftier and more creative than Serov, far more refined than Rimsky-Korsakov.In you I see the greatest—or rather the sole—hope of our musical future. Your own original creations will probably not make their appearance for another five years. But these ripe and classic works will surpass everything we have heard since Glinka.To sum up: I do not honour you so much for what youhavedone, as for what the force and vitality of your geniuswillone day accomplish. The proofs you have given so far are but solemn pledges to outdo all your contemporaries.”

“Petersburg (midnight),“January11th(23rd), 1866.

“ ... I will tell you frankly that I consider yours is the greatest musical talent to which Russia can look in the future. Stronger and more original than Balakirev, loftier and more creative than Serov, far more refined than Rimsky-Korsakov.In you I see the greatest—or rather the sole—hope of our musical future. Your own original creations will probably not make their appearance for another five years. But these ripe and classic works will surpass everything we have heard since Glinka.To sum up: I do not honour you so much for what youhavedone, as for what the force and vitality of your geniuswillone day accomplish. The proofs you have given so far are but solemn pledges to outdo all your contemporaries.”

TCHAIKOVSKY’S first impressions of Moscow practically resolve themselves into his association with a few Muscovites, with whom he was destined to be linked to the end of his days. His subsequent life is so inseparably connected with the narrow circle of his friends in the old capital, that the reader needs to be introduced to some of them individually, before I pass on to my brother’s career as a teacher and composer.

At the head of these musical friends stands Nicholas Rubinstein, of whom it is no exaggeration to say that he was the greatest influence throughout Tchaikovsky’s after career. No one, artist or friend, did so much for the advancement of his fame, gave him greater support and appreciation, or helped him more to conquer his first nervousness and timidity, than the Director of the Moscow Conservatoire. Nicholas Rubinstein is intimately associated with every event in Tchaikovsky’s private and public life. Everywhere we shall come upon traces of his helpful influence. It is not too much to assert that, during the first years of Tchaikovsky’s life there, all Moscow was personified in Nicholas Rubinstein.

Laroche, in hisReminiscences, gives the following sketch of the director:—

“Nicholas Rubinstein was born June 2nd (14th), 1835. Like his celebrated brother, he showed a remarkable andprecocious talent for music. It is said he learnt quicker, and was considered to have more genius than Anton. But while the latter devoted himself entirely to music and studied in Berlin, Nicholas elected for a university education.... As a student at the Moscow University, and even later—until the establishment of the Russian Musical Society—he earned his living by teaching the pianoforte. He had a number of pupils, and, as he himself told me, earned at one time as much as 7,000 roubles (over £700) a year. On his marriage he was compelled to give up playing in public, on account of the objections raised by his wife’s relations. His domestic life was not happy, and the differences of opinion between himself and his wife’s family led to a rupture two years later. His unusual powers were first recognised when he succeeded in founding the Moscow Conservatoire. Besides being a most gifted pianist, he had great talent as a conductor, and organiser of many schemes. He could represent all branches of musical society in his own person. Although he spent all his nights at the ‘English Club,’ playing cards for high stakes, he managed to take part in every social event, and was acquainted with all circles of Moscow society, commercial, official, artistic, scientific, and aristocratic.”

“As regards art,” says Kashkin, “Nicholas Rubinstein was purely an idealist; he admitted no compromise, and was entirely above personal likes or dislikes. He was always ready to help a fellow-artist, especially a Russian, and, without stopping to consider his means, simply gave whatever he had by him at the moment.

“Externally he differed greatly from his brother Anton. Nicholas Rubinstein was short and stoutly built; fair-complexioned, with curly hair. He had a dreamy expression, a languor of speech, and an air of aristocratic weariness, which was contradicted by the indefatigable energy of his temperament. Probably this languor proceeded from the fact that he scarcely ever slept.

“He was Tchaikovsky’s senior by five years only; but in these early days of their intercourse the difference between their ages seemed much greater. This was partly accounted for by the fact that Tchaikovsky came toMoscow in a somewhat subordinate position, whereas the name of Rubinstein was one of the most popular in the town; but the difference in character was also very great. Rubinstein belonged to the class of dominating and ruling personalities; his was a forceful character which impressed all who came in contact with him. Tchaikovsky, on the contrary, was yielding and submissive in matters of daily existence, although inwardly he protested against all attempts to influence and coerce him, and generally preserved his freedom of opinion, at least as regards music. This self-assertion did not, however, come naturally to him, and for that reason he loved solitude. He avoided his fellow-men, because he did not know how to hold his own among them; while at the same time he disliked submitting to the will of others, but this was not his attitude in 1866. At this time he was grateful for Nicholas Rubinstein’s almost paternal care, and bowed to his decision, even in the matter of dress.

“Their friendly relations were sometimes strained, but never broken, although Peter Ilich was occasionally irritated by Rubinstein’s masterful guidance, and was scolded in return for not being sufficiently docile.”

“Rubinstein’s right hand,” says Laroche, “was Constantine Albrecht, the Inspector of the Conservatoire. He was about five years older than Tchaikovsky, and had held the post of ‘cellist at the Opera House since the age of fifteen. Albrecht was a very capable and, in many respects, a very interesting man, although he was not popular with the public. Tchaikovsky was strongly attracted to him, and soon after his arrival in Moscow arranged to take his meals daily at his house. Albrecht’s views, or rather convictions, were extraordinarily paradoxical.

“In politics he took the Conservative side, but as regards music he was probably the most advanced radical in Moscow. Wagner, Liszt, Beethoven in his last period, and certain things of Schumann, were all he would acknowledge. I must add, by way of an eccentricity, his admiration for Dargomijsky’sRoussalka. He was an admirable choral conductor, and did good work in this branch of his art, for many of the pupils trained by himturned out excellent teachers. Besides music, Albrecht took great interest in natural science and mathematics. In summer he was an enthusiastic hunter of beetles and butterflies. But for the subjects in which a musician should be interested—history, poetry,belles-lettreshe showed the most complete indifference. I doubt if he had ever read a novel....”

Tchaikovsky had a very high opinion of Albrecht as a composer, and often regretted that so much talent should be wasted. But it was his kindliness of heart, and above all his innate sense of humour, which appealed most to Peter Ilich.

Very different, and far more important, were Tchaikovsky’s relations with P. I. Jurgenson, the first—and always the chief—publisher of his works.

Peter Ivanovich Jurgenson was born at Reval in 1836, and his childhood was spent in very poor and depressing circumstances. At nineteen he entered a music warehouse in Petersburg, where he soon won his employer’s confidence, and rose to be manager to the firm of Schildbach, in Moscow. Two years later, in 1861, he made a daring venture and set up business on his own account. In Nicholas Rubinstein he found a powerful friend and ally, who supported his enterprise for twenty years with unfailing energy. By 1866 Jurgenson had passed through his worst experiences, and began to play a prominent part in the musical life of Moscow. Courageous and enterprising, he was one of the most active adherents of Nicholas Rubinstein, that “Peter the Great” of musical Moscow, to whom he rendered valuable assistance in founding the Conservatoire. Jurgenson was the first Russian publisher to bring out the works of the classical school in cheap editions, and also the compositions of young native composers, including those of Tchaikovsky.

Although he came from the Baltic provinces, Jurgenson was an ardent Russian patriot, and soon won theaffection of Peter Ilich, who was always a welcome guest in his house.

At the present moment the firm of Jurgenson is almost the sole possessor of Tchaikovsky’s compositions. Among the 200,000 engraving-plates which are preserved in their fireproof safes more than 70,000 belong to the works of this composer.

The fourth of Tchaikovsky’s intimate friends, Nicholas Kashkin, received him on his arrival with the cordiality of an old comrade, for he already knew him from Laroche’s enthusiastic description.

“ ... Nicholas Dmitrievich Kashkin was the son of a well-known and respected bookseller in the town of Voronejh,” says Laroche in his reminiscences. From childhood he displayed great aptitude for the piano, and by dint of self-teaching, made such progress that he could execute difficult music, and was highly thought of in his native place. Yet he was conscious that he lacked proper training, and at twenty-two went to study with Dubuque, in Moscow.

Although Kashkin had no influence on Tchaikovsky’s development, their relations were very friendly. When the latter came to Moscow, Kashkin was already married and a professor at the Conservatoire. He and his young wife took a great liking to the lonely composer, and the intimacy ripened very quickly. All the teachers at the Conservatoire, including Nicholas Rubinstein, valued Kashkin’s advice. All his friends regarded him as a criticpar excellence. Many years later he gave up teaching at the Conservatoire, and became a professional critic. But even in this difficult calling, which so often leads to misunderstanding and bitter enmities, he managed to keep all his old friends, and even to make new ones.

If I add to the names of N. Rubinstein, Albrecht, Jurgenson, and Kashkin, two fellow-students already mentioned—Laroche and Hubert—the list of Tchaikovsky’sintimate friends is complete. This little circle was destined to give unfailing support to the growing reputation of the composer, and to remain in the closest personal relations with him to the end of his life. Amid these friends he found encouragement and sympathy at the time when he stood most in need of them.

Tchaikovsky left St. Petersburg early in January, 1866.

At this time his letters show his depth of tenderness for his own people, his first feelings of loneliness in the strange city, his indifference to his surroundings, and finally his gradual attachment to Moscow, which ended in being “the dearest town in the world.”

To Anatol and Modeste Tchaikovsky.“3.30p.m.,January6th(18th).“My dear Brothers,—My journey, although sad, is safely over. I thought about you the whole way, and it grieved me to think that lately I had overshadowed you with my own depression, although I fought hard against it. Do not, however, doubt my affection, even if I do not always show it outwardly. I am staying at the Hotel Kokorev. I have already seen Rubinstein and been introduced to two directors of the Musical Society. Rubinstein was so pressing in his invitation to me to live with him that I could not refuse, and shall go there to-morrow.... I hug you both. Do not cease to love me. Give my remembrances to everyone. Write! I will write again soon. I have just written to Dad. You must also do so.”

To Anatol and Modeste Tchaikovsky.

“3.30p.m.,January6th(18th).

“My dear Brothers,—My journey, although sad, is safely over. I thought about you the whole way, and it grieved me to think that lately I had overshadowed you with my own depression, although I fought hard against it. Do not, however, doubt my affection, even if I do not always show it outwardly. I am staying at the Hotel Kokorev. I have already seen Rubinstein and been introduced to two directors of the Musical Society. Rubinstein was so pressing in his invitation to me to live with him that I could not refuse, and shall go there to-morrow.... I hug you both. Do not cease to love me. Give my remembrances to everyone. Write! I will write again soon. I have just written to Dad. You must also do so.”

To the same.“Moscow,January10th(22nd).“Dear Brothers,—I am now living with Nicholas Rubinstein. He is a very kind and sympathetic man.He has none of his brother’s unapproachable manner, but in other respects he is not to be compared with Anton—as an artist. I have a little room next to his bedroom, and, truth to tell, I am afraid the scratching of my pen must disturb him after he goes to bed, for our rooms are only divided by a thin partition. I am very busy (upon the orchestration of the C minor overture composed during the summer). I sit at home nearly all day, and Rubinstein, who leads rather an excitable life, cannot sufficiently marvel at my industry. I have been to both theatres. The opera was very bad, so for once I did not get as much artistic enjoyment from it as from the play.... I have hardly made any new acquaintances except Kashkin, a friend of Laroche’s and a first-rate musician, whom I have got to know very well indeed.“Sometimes I feel rather melancholy, but as a rule I am possessed by an insatiable craving for work, which is my greatest consolation.... I have promised Rubinstein my overture shall be performed here before I send it to Petersburg. Yesterday at bedtime I thought a great deal about you both. I pictured to myself all the horrors of the first night after the holidays, and fancied how Modi would hide his nose under the bed-clothes and cry bitterly. How I wish I could have comforted him! It is not a meaningless phrase, Modi, when I tell you to grind and grind and grind, and to make friends with your respectable companions, but not with that crazy fellow X.... I am afraid you will be left behind in your class and be one of those who get into the master’s black books. I have no fears for Toly, so I send him no advice. Toly, my dear, conquer your indolence as a correspondent and write to me. Hearty kisses!”

To the same.

“Moscow,January10th(22nd).

“Dear Brothers,—I am now living with Nicholas Rubinstein. He is a very kind and sympathetic man.He has none of his brother’s unapproachable manner, but in other respects he is not to be compared with Anton—as an artist. I have a little room next to his bedroom, and, truth to tell, I am afraid the scratching of my pen must disturb him after he goes to bed, for our rooms are only divided by a thin partition. I am very busy (upon the orchestration of the C minor overture composed during the summer). I sit at home nearly all day, and Rubinstein, who leads rather an excitable life, cannot sufficiently marvel at my industry. I have been to both theatres. The opera was very bad, so for once I did not get as much artistic enjoyment from it as from the play.... I have hardly made any new acquaintances except Kashkin, a friend of Laroche’s and a first-rate musician, whom I have got to know very well indeed.

“Sometimes I feel rather melancholy, but as a rule I am possessed by an insatiable craving for work, which is my greatest consolation.... I have promised Rubinstein my overture shall be performed here before I send it to Petersburg. Yesterday at bedtime I thought a great deal about you both. I pictured to myself all the horrors of the first night after the holidays, and fancied how Modi would hide his nose under the bed-clothes and cry bitterly. How I wish I could have comforted him! It is not a meaningless phrase, Modi, when I tell you to grind and grind and grind, and to make friends with your respectable companions, but not with that crazy fellow X.... I am afraid you will be left behind in your class and be one of those who get into the master’s black books. I have no fears for Toly, so I send him no advice. Toly, my dear, conquer your indolence as a correspondent and write to me. Hearty kisses!”

The overture in C minor, referred to in this letter, was submitted to Nicholas Rubinstein a few days later. His opinion, however, was unfavourable, and he declared the work unsuitable for performance by the Musical Society. Tchaikovsky then sent the work to Petersburg, in order that Laroche might ask Anton Rubinstein to perform it there. “I have left your overture with Rubinstein,” Laroche wrotein reply, “and repeated your requestverbatim. He replied by a low, ironical bow. But this is just his way.” The overture was not approved by Anton Rubinstein, nor did it meet with a happier fate when Laroche tried to persuade Liadov to give it a place at one of the opera concerts. Long afterwards Tchaikovsky himself shared this adverse opinion of the work, and wrote upon the cover of the manuscript, “Awful rubbish.”

To his sister, Alexandra Davidov.“January15th(27th).“ ... I have nothing particular to tell you about my life and work. I am to teach the theory of music, and yesterday I held the preliminary examination. Many pretty girls presented themselves.... I like Moscow very well, but I doubt if I shall ever get accustomed to it; I have been too long rooted in Petersburg.”

To his sister, Alexandra Davidov.

“January15th(27th).

“ ... I have nothing particular to tell you about my life and work. I am to teach the theory of music, and yesterday I held the preliminary examination. Many pretty girls presented themselves.... I like Moscow very well, but I doubt if I shall ever get accustomed to it; I have been too long rooted in Petersburg.”

To A. and M. Tchaikovsky.“January15th(27th).“My dear Brothers,—Do not waste your money on stamps. It would be better to write only once a week, a long letter in the form of a diary....“I get on very well with everyone, especially with Rubinstein, Kashkin, Albrecht, and Osberg.[12]I have also made friends with a family of the name Tchaikovsky.[13]I have eaten a great deal at their house, but I did not take part in the dancing, although I was attired in Rubinstein’s dress-coat. The latter looks after me like a nurse, and insists upon doing so. To-day he forced me to accept half a dozen new shirts (you need not mention this to the Davidovs or anyone else), and to-morrow he will carry me off to his tailor to order me a frock-coat. He is a wonderfully kind man, but I cannot understand how he has wonhis great reputation as a musician. He is rather ordinary in this respect, not to be compared to his brother.[14]“In mentioning my friends here, I must not omit Rubinstein’s servant Alexander. He is a worthy old man, and possesses a splendid white cat which is now sitting on my lap, while I stroke it gently. My pleasantest pastime is to think of the summer. Lately I have felt drawn to Sasha, Leo, and their children, and have now decided to spend the summer with you at their house.”

To A. and M. Tchaikovsky.

“January15th(27th).

“My dear Brothers,—Do not waste your money on stamps. It would be better to write only once a week, a long letter in the form of a diary....

“I get on very well with everyone, especially with Rubinstein, Kashkin, Albrecht, and Osberg.[12]I have also made friends with a family of the name Tchaikovsky.[13]I have eaten a great deal at their house, but I did not take part in the dancing, although I was attired in Rubinstein’s dress-coat. The latter looks after me like a nurse, and insists upon doing so. To-day he forced me to accept half a dozen new shirts (you need not mention this to the Davidovs or anyone else), and to-morrow he will carry me off to his tailor to order me a frock-coat. He is a wonderfully kind man, but I cannot understand how he has wonhis great reputation as a musician. He is rather ordinary in this respect, not to be compared to his brother.[14]

“In mentioning my friends here, I must not omit Rubinstein’s servant Alexander. He is a worthy old man, and possesses a splendid white cat which is now sitting on my lap, while I stroke it gently. My pleasantest pastime is to think of the summer. Lately I have felt drawn to Sasha, Leo, and their children, and have now decided to spend the summer with you at their house.”

To A. and M. Tchaikovsky.“Sunday, January30th(February11th).“ ... I laugh heartily over Dickens’sPickwick Papers, with no one to share my mirth; but sometimes this thought incites me to even wilder hilarity. I recommend you to read this book; when one wants to read fiction it is best to begin with such an author as Dickens. He has much in common with Gogol; the same inimitable and innate humour and the same masterly power of depicting an entire character in a few strokes. But he has not Gogol’s depth....“The idea of an opera begins to occupy my attention. All the libretti Rubinstein has given me are utterly bad. I have found a subject, and intend to write words myself. It will simply be the adaptation of a tragedy. The poet Plestcheiev is living here, and has promised to help me.”

To A. and M. Tchaikovsky.

“Sunday, January30th(February11th).

“ ... I laugh heartily over Dickens’sPickwick Papers, with no one to share my mirth; but sometimes this thought incites me to even wilder hilarity. I recommend you to read this book; when one wants to read fiction it is best to begin with such an author as Dickens. He has much in common with Gogol; the same inimitable and innate humour and the same masterly power of depicting an entire character in a few strokes. But he has not Gogol’s depth....

“The idea of an opera begins to occupy my attention. All the libretti Rubinstein has given me are utterly bad. I have found a subject, and intend to write words myself. It will simply be the adaptation of a tragedy. The poet Plestcheiev is living here, and has promised to help me.”

To his sister, Alexandra Davidov.“February7th(19th).“I am gradually becoming accustomed to Moscow, although sometimes I feel very lonely. My classes are very successful, to my great astonishment; my nervousness is vanishing completely, and I am gradually assuming the airs of a professor. My home-sickness is also wearing off, but still Moscow is a strange place, and it will be long before I can contemplate without horror the thought of remaining here for years—perhaps for ever....”

To his sister, Alexandra Davidov.

“February7th(19th).

“I am gradually becoming accustomed to Moscow, although sometimes I feel very lonely. My classes are very successful, to my great astonishment; my nervousness is vanishing completely, and I am gradually assuming the airs of a professor. My home-sickness is also wearing off, but still Moscow is a strange place, and it will be long before I can contemplate without horror the thought of remaining here for years—perhaps for ever....”

To Modeste Tchaikovsky.(The middle of February.)“My Dear Friend Modi,—I have been very busy lately, and therefore have not written for a long while. Rubinstein has entrusted me with some important work which has to be finished by the third week in Lent....“Life glides on quietly and monotonously, so that I have hardly anything to tell you. I often visit the Tarnovskys, whose niece is the loveliest girl I ever saw in my life. I am very much taken with her, which causes Rubinstein to be a perfect nuisance. The moment we arrive at the house the others begin to tease us and leave us together. At home she is called ‘Mufka,’ and just now I am wondering whether I dare use this name for her too. I only need to know her a little better. Rubinstein has also been in love with her, but his sentiments have now grown cooler.“My nerves are in good condition; I am very calm and even cheerful. I often console myself with thoughts of Easter, spring, and the summer holidays.”

To Modeste Tchaikovsky.

(The middle of February.)

“My Dear Friend Modi,—I have been very busy lately, and therefore have not written for a long while. Rubinstein has entrusted me with some important work which has to be finished by the third week in Lent....

“Life glides on quietly and monotonously, so that I have hardly anything to tell you. I often visit the Tarnovskys, whose niece is the loveliest girl I ever saw in my life. I am very much taken with her, which causes Rubinstein to be a perfect nuisance. The moment we arrive at the house the others begin to tease us and leave us together. At home she is called ‘Mufka,’ and just now I am wondering whether I dare use this name for her too. I only need to know her a little better. Rubinstein has also been in love with her, but his sentiments have now grown cooler.

“My nerves are in good condition; I am very calm and even cheerful. I often console myself with thoughts of Easter, spring, and the summer holidays.”

The work to which Tchaikovsky refers at the beginning of this letter was the instrumentation of his overture in F major, which had been originally scored for the small orchestra of the Petersburg Conservatoire. In later years the composer must have destroyed the fuller arrangement of the work, although at this time he seems to have been satisfied with the result.

To A. and M. Tchaikovsky.“March6th(18th).“ ... My overture was performed on Friday, and had a good success. I was unanimously recalled, and—to be grandiloquent—received with applause that made the welkin ring. More flattering still was the ovation I met with at the supper which Rubinstein gave after the concert.... After supper he proposed my health amid renewed applause. I go into these details because it is my first public success, and consequently very gratifying.”

To A. and M. Tchaikovsky.

“March6th(18th).

“ ... My overture was performed on Friday, and had a good success. I was unanimously recalled, and—to be grandiloquent—received with applause that made the welkin ring. More flattering still was the ovation I met with at the supper which Rubinstein gave after the concert.... After supper he proposed my health amid renewed applause. I go into these details because it is my first public success, and consequently very gratifying.”

At the end of March Tchaikovsky, eager as a schoolboy at the beginning of his holidays, left Moscow for Petersburg, where he stayed until April 4th (16th).

To A. and M. Tchaikovsky.“Moscow,April7th(19th).“Brothers! Forgive me for not having written before. The journey was safely accomplished. The news of the attempt upon the Emperor’s life reached us at the station where we stopped for tea, but only in a very vague form.[15]We pictured to ourselves that he was actually dead, and one lady wept bitterly, while another began to extol all the virtues of the new sovereign. Only at Moscow I learnt the true account. The rejoicings here were beyond belief; yesterday at the Opera, where I went to hearA Life for the Tsar, when the Poles appeared on the stage the entire public began to shout, ‘Down with the Poles!’ In the last scene of the fourth act, in which the Poles put Sousanin to death, the singer who was taking this part resisted with such realistic violence that he knocked down several of the ‘Polish’ chorus-singers. When the rest of the ‘Poles’ saw that this outrage to art and to the truth delighted the public, they promptly fell down of their own accord, and the triumphant Sousanin walked away, shaking his fists at them, amid the vociferous applause of the Muscovites. At the end of the opera the Emperor’s portrait was brought on the stage, and an indescribable tumult followed.”

To A. and M. Tchaikovsky.

“Moscow,April7th(19th).

“Brothers! Forgive me for not having written before. The journey was safely accomplished. The news of the attempt upon the Emperor’s life reached us at the station where we stopped for tea, but only in a very vague form.[15]We pictured to ourselves that he was actually dead, and one lady wept bitterly, while another began to extol all the virtues of the new sovereign. Only at Moscow I learnt the true account. The rejoicings here were beyond belief; yesterday at the Opera, where I went to hearA Life for the Tsar, when the Poles appeared on the stage the entire public began to shout, ‘Down with the Poles!’ In the last scene of the fourth act, in which the Poles put Sousanin to death, the singer who was taking this part resisted with such realistic violence that he knocked down several of the ‘Polish’ chorus-singers. When the rest of the ‘Poles’ saw that this outrage to art and to the truth delighted the public, they promptly fell down of their own accord, and the triumphant Sousanin walked away, shaking his fists at them, amid the vociferous applause of the Muscovites. At the end of the opera the Emperor’s portrait was brought on the stage, and an indescribable tumult followed.”

To Alexandra Davidov.“April18th(20th).“I am going to act as advocate for two mortals who are just crazy about Kamenka. You write that Toly and Modi might be left in Petersburg, but I am determined not to tell them your point of view. They would utterly lose heart—especially Toly. One of my chief reasons for caring to spend the summer at Kamenka is to be with them, and your house is the only place where we can be together for a time. If you only knew how these littlefellows cling to me (and I return their love a hundredfold), you would not find it in your heart to separate us. Arrange, my dear, for this visit to come off. Very likely I shall be able to take part of the expense off your hands.”

To Alexandra Davidov.

“April18th(20th).

“I am going to act as advocate for two mortals who are just crazy about Kamenka. You write that Toly and Modi might be left in Petersburg, but I am determined not to tell them your point of view. They would utterly lose heart—especially Toly. One of my chief reasons for caring to spend the summer at Kamenka is to be with them, and your house is the only place where we can be together for a time. If you only knew how these littlefellows cling to me (and I return their love a hundredfold), you would not find it in your heart to separate us. Arrange, my dear, for this visit to come off. Very likely I shall be able to take part of the expense off your hands.”

Before the summer holidays came, Tchaikovsky’s health was in an unsatisfactory condition. He complains in his letters of insomnia, nervousness, and the throbbing sensations in his head, to which he often refers as “my apoplectic symptoms.” At the end of April his depression became very apparent, and he wrote to his brother Anatol:—

“My nerves are altogether shaken. The causes are: (1) the symphony, which does not sound satisfactory; (2) Rubinstein and Tarnovsky have discovered that I am easily startled, and amuse themselves by giving me all manner of shocks all day long; (3) I cannot shake off the conviction that I shall not live long, and shall leave my symphony unfinished. I long for the summer and for Kamenka as for the Promised Land, and hope to find rest and peace, and to forget all my troubles there. Yesterday I determined to touch no more wine, spirits, or strong tea.“I hate mankind in the mass, and I should be delighted to retire into some wilderness with very few inhabitants. I have already secured my ticket in thediligencefor May 10th (22nd).”

“I hate mankind in the mass, and I should be delighted to retire into some wilderness with very few inhabitants. I have already secured my ticket in thediligencefor May 10th (22nd).”

The visit to Kamenka, to which he had looked forward through the winter and spring, did not actually come to pass. In consequence of the state of the high-roads, the diligence was unable to run beyond Dovsk; the remainder of the journey had to be undertaken, at the traveller’s own risk and expense, in a private post-chaise. Tchaikovsky’s funds did not permit of this extra strain, and the visit to his sister was abandoned. With the assistance of his father, Anatol was sent to Kamenka, while Peter Ilich, with Modeste, went for a time to his sister’s mother-in-law at Miatlev, near Petersburg.

In spite of the beauty of scenery and his pleasure in being with his excellent friends, Elizabeth and Vera Davidov, in spite of being near his father and the poetical impression derived from a trip to Lake Ladoga, Tchaikovsky did not altogether enjoy his holiday at Miatlev. The cause of this was his G minor symphony, afterwards known asWinter Day Dreams. Not one of his compositions gave him so much trouble as this symphony.

He began this work in Moscow during the spring, and it was the cause of his nervous disorders and numerous sleepless nights. These difficulties were partly caused by his want of experience in composition, and partly by his habit of working by night as well as by day. At the end of June he had a terrible nervous breakdown, and the doctor who was called in to see him declared he had narrowly escaped madness, and that his condition was very serious. The most alarming symptoms of the illness were his hallucinations and a constant feeling of dread. That he suffered intensely is evident from the fact that he never again attempted to work through the night.

In consequence of his illness, Tchaikovsky was unable to finish the symphony during the summer. Nevertheless, before his return to Moscow he resolved to submit it to his former masters, Anton Rubinstein and Zaremba, hoping they might offer to let it be heard at the Musical Society.

Once more he was doomed to disappointment. His symphony was severely criticised, rejected, and pronounced unworthy of performance. It was the first completely independent work which he had composed after leaving the Petersburg Conservatoire. The only other work upon which he was engaged at this time was the orchestration of his F major and C minor overtures, which still remain unpublished.

At the end of August Tchaikovsky returned to Moscow without any trace of the hostile feeling with which he had gone there in the previous January. In this change of attitude his artistic sensibility unquestionably played a part. After the severe judgment of the authorities in Petersburg upon his symphony, he could not fail to contrast this reception unfavourably with the acknowledgments of the Moscow musical world. He had learnt, too, the value of his colleagues, N. Rubinstein, Albrecht and Kashkin, and looked forward to meeting them again. Finally, he had the pleasant prospect of an increased salary, commencing from September. He must have rejoiced to feel his extreme poverty had touched its limits, and an income of over £120 a year seemed almost wealth to him. “I have money enough and to spare,” he wrote to his brothers in November.

The ties which bound him to Petersburg were slackening. His attachment to his father remained unchanged, but he was growing accustomed to his separation; moreover, the twins stood less in need of his tender solicitude, since they were once more living at home with their father.

And yet he still hankered after the recognition of St. Petersburg; Moscow was still “a strange city”; a provincial town, the appreciation of which was hardly worth the conquest.

In 1866 the Conservatoire outgrew its quarters in Rubinstein’s house, and it became necessary to locate it in a larger building. Rubinstein now moved into quarters nearer the new Conservatoire, and Tchaikovsky continued to live with him.

The opening of the buildings took place on September 1st (13th), and was attended by most of the leaders of Moscow society. The consecration service was followed by a banquet at which many toasts were given, and even Tchaikovsky himself drank to the health of Rubinstein, after making a cordial and eloquent speech in his honour. Kashkin, the only witness of the event now living, writes:—

“The banquet was followed by music, and Tchaikovsky, who was determined that the first music to be heard in the hall of the Conservatoire should be Glinka’s, opened the impromptu concert by playing the overture toRusslan and Lieudmillafrom memory.”

The influx of new colleagues which followed the enlargement of the Conservatoire made very little difference to Tchaikovsky’s intimate circle. He admired Laub’s incomparable playing without entering into closer relations with him. He had more in common with Kossmann, an excellent musician and a man of culture. His acquaintance with the violinist Wieniawsky was of short duration, since at the end of six months the latter resigned his post as teacher, and they never met again. He often spent the evening with Dubuque, a most hospitable man, and a famous pianist, who was considered the finest interpreter of Field’s Nocturnes and other works which were accounted modern in those days. To these acquaintances we may add Anton Door, the well-known pianist, now residing in Vienna.

Among such of Tchaikovsky’s friends as did not belong to the musical profession, the generous art patron Prince Vladimir Odoevsky takes the first place. Peter Ilich was grateful for the interest which this enlightened man took in him and his work. In 1878 he says in one of his letters:—

TCHAIKOVSKY (IN WINTER DRESS), 1867TCHAIKOVSKY (IN WINTER DRESS), 1867

“He was the personification of kindness, and combined the most all-embracing knowledge, including the art of music.... Four days before his death he came to theconcert to hear my orchestral fantasia,Fatum. How jovial he was when during the interval he came to give me his opinion! The cymbals which he unearthed and presented to me are still kept at the Conservatoire. He did not like the instruments himself, but thought I had a talent for introducing them at the right moment. So the charming old fellow searched all Moscow until he discovered a pair of good ‘piatti,’ and sent them to me with a precious letter.”

In the literary and dramatic world Tchaikovsky had two good friends—the dramatist Ostrovsky and Sadovsky. He won the sympathy of these distinguished men entirely by his own personality, since neither of them cared greatly for music.

During the season 1866-7 the composer made another friendship which was of great importance to his future career. Vladimir Petrovich Begichev, Intendant of the Imperial Opera, Moscow, enjoyed a considerable reputation—first as an elderly Adonis, secondly as the hero of many romantic episodes in the past, and thirdly as the husband of his wife, a lady once renowned for her singing and for her somewhat sensational past. By her first husband Madame Begichev had two sons—Constantine and Vladimir Shilovsky. These young men were strongly attracted to art and literature, and played a considerable part in Tchaikovsky’s subsequent career.

Soon after his arrival in Moscow Tchaikovsky began to compose an overture on the Danish National Hymn, which N. Rubinstein had requested him to have ready for the approaching marriage of the Tsarevitch with the Princess Dagmar, to be played in the presence of the royal pair during their visit to Moscow.

As with all his commissioned works, Tchaikovsky had completed this overture before the appointed day, although he had to compose under the most unfavourable conditions. Rubinstein’s house was beset all day long byprofessors from the Conservatoire and other visitors, who did not hesitate to intrude into Tchaikovsky’s room, so that he found no peace at home, and had to take refuge in a neighbouring inn, “The Great Britain,” which was very little frequented during the daytime. When finished, he dedicated the overture to the Tsarevitch, and received in return a pair of jewelled sleeve-links, which he immediately sold to Dubuque. Tchaikovsky, who generally judged his early works very severely, kept a favourable recollection of this overture, and wrote to Jurgenson, in 1892:—

“My Danish Overture may become a popular concert work, for, as far as I can remember, it is effective and, from a musical standpoint, far superior to ‘1812.’”

After making some alterations in his symphony—undertaken at the desire of Anton Rubinstein and Zaremba—Tchaikovsky, setting aside N. Rubinstein, desired to hear the judgments of his old teachers, so greatly was he still under the influence of Petersburg opinion. He only permitted the least important movement to be heard at a Moscow Symphony Concert in December—the scherzo, which had very little success. In Petersburg the work was once more refused, but afterwards the two middle movements (adagio and scherzo) were performed in February, 1867. The reception was not encouraging, only one anonymous critic speaking warmly in praise of the music.

In Tchaikovsky’s nature, side by side with his gentle and benevolent attitude towards his fellow-men, there existed an extraordinary memory for any injury; not in the ordinary sense of a desire for revenge, but in the more literal meaning of unforgetfulness. He hardly ever forgot a slight to his artistic pride. If it was offered by one whom he had hitherto loved, he grew suddenly cold to him—and for ever. Not only for months or years, but fordecades, he would bear such a wound unhealed in his heart, and it took a great deal to make him forget an inconsiderate word, or an unfriendly action. It was no doubt the result of having been spoilt as a child. From his earliest infancy he had been kept from all unpleasantness, or even indifference, so that what would have appeared a pin-prick to many seemed to him a mortal blow.

Not only the episode of the symphony—which afterwards won a fair measure of success in St. Petersburg—but many other events contributed to estrange Tchaikovsky from the city of his first affections. Gradually the circle of his friends there decreased, and the most intimate of them all, Laroche, was appointed Professor at the Moscow Conservatoire in December, 1867. Besides which that little school of gifted “young Russians,” under the leadership of Balakirev, and the protection of Dargomijsky, which included Moussorgsky, Cui, Borodin and Rimsky-Korsakov, were gaining more and more acknowledgment and weight in Petersburg. This circle, supported by the pens of Cui and Stassov, who held extremely modern views and were opposed to the Conservatoire and Anton Rubinstein, made a very unsympathetic impression upon Tchaikovsky.

The hostility with which he regarded this group of composers had its origin in his distrustful attitude towards society generally. He met all strangers with dislike, but at the first friendly advance, or kind word, he forgave them, and even thought them sympathetic.

So it was with his intercourse with the members of the New School in St. Petersburg. Until 1868 none of them were known to him personally, but all the same he was hostile to them. This was sufficient to awaken in him the notion that they were all disposed to be his enemies, and when in 1867 Anton Rubinstein resigned the conductorship of the Symphony Concerts, and it passed into the hands of this school, he decided that Petersburg was now a hostilecamp, whereas in reality they were simply neutral, or indifferent, to him.

Meanwhile, by closer acquaintance with Nicholas Rubinstein, Tchaikovsky had begun to recognise his worth as an executant, a conductor, and an indefatigable worker; while the presence of such musicians as Laub and Kossmann, and such intimate friends as Kashkin, Albrecht and Laroche, reconciled him to Moscow as a musical centre where it was worth while to be appreciated.

The earliest of Tchaikovsky’s letters in 1867 is dated May 2nd (14th); therefore it is difficult to fix the precise date at which he began to compose his opera,The Voyevode. In any case he received the first part of the libretto from Ostrovsky in March or April. I remember that in the summer the first act was not even finished. At the very outset he was delayed in his work because he lost the manuscript, and Ostrovsky had to rewrite it from memory.

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